


First Kiss

by brevitas



Series: Love is Stronger Than Death [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has no choice but to face the music. He's expecting a fight; what he gets instead is an interrogation.</p>
<p>Or, in which Grantaire thinks everybody is always out to kick him when he's down and Enjolras has to prove him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

They canvas the area for any more zombies and, content they are alone once more, the Amis split up to climb aboard their respective trucks. Grantaire lingers for as long as he can checking Jehan over; he insists on the poet shedding his shirt despite Jehan’s confidence that he received no other wounds. Still, Grantaire isn’t satisfied until he’s seen every unmarked inch of him.

He helps Jehan into the bed of the truck and pulls his shirt back on over his head for him, like one might do with a younger sibling. He frowns at the way Jehan wheezes; his windpipe wasn’t crushed in the attack but there has definitely been some damage inflicted. Jehan reassures him with a soft smile and finally, with everybody else already in the trucks and the engines idling, Grantaire faces the music.

He pulls himself into the cab of their truck with a grunt, pulling his rifle off his shoulder to lay across his knees. Enjolras greets him with a sidelong look and a smile. Grantaire exhales noisily through his nose.

The walkie-talkie squawks, carrying Bahorel’s voice. “We’re good to go, over.”

Grantaire picks it up to say, “Cool, moving out, over.” Enjolras eases the gas and they start the drive.

For a long time, nothing happens. Grantaire’s anxiety steadily increases as minutes wear onto a half hour, then a full hour. Enjolras hums occasionally to himself, sometimes talks on the walkie-talkie to the other truck, but mostly just drives. Grantaire refuses to be the one to bring up the kiss; he takes his rifle apart in his lap and puts it back together while he waits.

“I wish we had a radio,” Enjolras says after nearly two hours. Grantaire looks incredulously at him, brows furrowed. Enjolras lifts an eyebrow at his intent expression. “I’m just saying.”

“What the fuck,” Grantaire groans to himself, ignoring Enjolras’ look. He finally turns to face the blonde. “What the fuck are you, some sorta robot? Are you not gonna say anything?”

Enjolras’ eyebrow inches higher. “What are you talking about?”

“The _kiss_ ,” Grantaire hisses, leaning closer. “Isn’t that why you wanted me to sit up here with you? Because you wanted to talk about that?”

Enjolras shrugs, looking back at the road. “We can if you want to,” he says, “But you already said you were drunk. I didn’t think much of it.”

Grantaire snaps his mouth closed with an audible _click_. Enjolras fights not to smile and has to press his lips together to maintain his composure.

“Alright,” Grantaire says with a loud breath. “Okay, no talking then.”

“I didn’t say _no_ talking,” Enjolras says with a quiet laugh. “I said we didn’t need to talk about that.” He watches Grantaire for a second, who seems caught somewhere between confused and angry. “Or,” Enjolras says a little louder, prompting Grantaire to look at him, “We _can_ talk about that.”

Grantaire’s expression immediately closes off. “No,” he says. “It’s fine.”

“Well,” Enjolras says, looking forward again. “I for one enjoyed it.” He can see a little of Grantaire’s expression out of the corner of his eye and takes pride in the way the sniper’s mouth falls open. “It wasn’t altogether a bad kiss,” he continues when Grantaire doesn’t speak. “Considering the circumstances.

“The circumstances?” Grantaire repeats, frowning. It seems he can’t help but join in after all.

Enjolras sagely nods. “Of course. The circumstances.” He cuts a look at Grantaire, who continues to frown at him. “You know—that you were drunk. Honestly, it was a very good kiss for someone who’d been drinking. Those tend to be sloppy.”

“I—“ Grantaire cuts himself off before he can go any further. He grumpily faces the window and sets his jaw.

Enjolras smiles sweetly at him. “You what?”

“I wasn’t drunk, you little asshole,” he says but he’s fighting back a smile. “Fuck, you are a piece of work, you know that?”

Enjolras looks gleeful. “I knew you wouldn’t drink and drive,” he says, glancing at Grantaire, “But nice try.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Haven’t you ever heard of letting sleeping dogs lie?” He asks. Enjolras just smiles. “Christ, I bet your friends in grade school hated you.”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says with a laugh. “Ask Combeferre. He’s put up with me for quite some time now.”

A more companionable silence fills in the space between them now. Grantaire’s tension has all but evaporated; the line of his shoulders is so relaxed that he’s slouched into the door. They can vaguely hear the three in the back talking but that is the only noise in the cab.

Finally Enjolras says, “Did you mean to kiss me?” When Grantaire turns to look at him Enjolras meets his eyes with little hesitation. “Or was it an accident? Perhaps instigated by the heat of the moment?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Whichever,” he says, which draws a frown from the blonde. “I mean, whatever you prefer.”

“I prefer an honest answer,” Enjolras says. “Did you mean to kiss me?”

“I guess,” Grantaire says reluctantly. “I won’t do it again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No,” Enjolras corrects, “I wasn’t.”

Grantaire frowns at the melancholy note in his voice. He can’t read the blonde’s expression when he looks at him; Jehan had remarked during their introduction that Enjolras had a face cut from marble. He certainly understands the comment now.

“Uh, I think I’ve missed something here,” Grantaire says finally. “Why do you keep asking me about the kiss? Are you mad? I think I’ve apologized more than enough, so how about you just tell me what you want to hear?”

Enjolras glances at him. “Do you want to kiss me again?” He asks bluntly. Grantaire blinks and remains silent and Enjolras wheedles, “ _Would_ you kiss me again?”

“Fuck, Enjolras, I already said I wouldn’t!” He snaps. “Leave it, okay?”

Enjolras frowns at him. “No,” he says shortly. “Just answer my question. Would you like to kiss me again?” He punctuates each word with a breath so the sentence lasts forever and he’s staring determinedly at Grantaire now, who fiddles in his seat.

“No,” he says after a long minute. “No, I don’t want to kiss you again. You’re safe from me.”

Exasperated Enjolras says, “That’s not what I meant—“ but Grantaire cuts him off.

“Pull over up here,” he says. “I want to check on Jehan.”

It’s remarkable how quickly the atmosphere between them becomes poisonous. Enjolras’ glares at the road as he pulls over, his hands jerky on the steering wheel; Grantaire just looks out the window so he doesn’t have to look anywhere else.

The second Enjolras stops Grantaire gets out. He slams the door behind him so hard the truck rocks on its wheels.

“Jehan,” he calls as he comes around the back of the truck but Jehan is already scrambling over the edge and jumps down beside him. He knew something was wrong the moment they started edging towards the shoulder. Jehan says nothing, just falls into step beside Grantaire, who heads angrily towards a nearby strip of woods. The other truck pulls up behind the first and everyone watches them walk away with bewildered frowns. The only one not looking is Enjolras, who grips the steering wheel so tightly the material bunches up beneath his hands.

Courfeyrac calls, “Dudes, where are you going?”

Jehan turns partially and lifts a hand. “We’ll be right back!” He and Grantaire disappear into the trees a minute later, their silhouettes fading amongst the shadows.

“What the fuck is happening,” Courfeyrac grumbles once they vanish. He climbs out of the truck bed, Combeferre swiftly joining him. They walk together towards the cab where Enjolras is prying his fingers off the steering wheel and reaching to open his door. Courfeyrac beats him to it.

“What just happened?” He asks, frowning. Enjolras gives him a near-identical frown in response and gets down.

“Nothing,” he says defensively. “Grantaire is just an emotionally-stunted, infantile alcoholic who refuses to acknowledge that he is a human being and has _feelings_.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s all.”

Combeferre stares at him, baffled. Courfeyrac plants his hands on hips and whistles. “So what you’re telling me,” he says, trying and failing to conceal his grin. “Is that you confronted Grantaire about how badly you want to get in his pants and he shot you down?”

“What?” Enjolras’ head jerks up in surprise and Courfeyrac laughs. “No, no,” he says quickly, trying to diffuse the situation before it gets any worse. “No, I’m saying that I confronted him about him kissing me because I wanted—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Courfeyrac interrupts, “Did you just say ‘him kissing you’?” He whirls to face Combeferre who is now also trying not to smile. “Ferre, did you hear that? Did E just confess to Grantaire kissing him and him _liking_ it?”

“I never said I _liked_ it—“

“Oh really?” Courfeyrac says sweetly. “Because you did just say you confronted him about it. You seem very flustered, E. Are you sure you didn’t like it?”

Enjolras just stares at him for a second, his clear blue eyes murderous, and Combeferre has to step between them. “Enjolras,” he says, waiting for his best friend to look at him. “Did you ask Grantaire about him kissing you because you liked it?”

Enjolras deflates a little under Combeferre’s sober gaze. “Yes,” he says finally. “I guess I did.”

Combeferre nods. Both ignore Courfeyrac’s little happy dance and the audience of the two trucks, who are scarcely breathing now in order to eavesdrop. “Then I would suggest you go after him.”

Enjolras frowns and says, “Hell no. He made his position clear.”

“I doubt that,” Combeferre says kindly, laying a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “He probably thinks you’re trying to start a fight. Grantaire seems like the kind to mistake genuine interest for something more sinister.”

Some of Enjolras’ anger vanishes. He thinks of Grantaire’s expression when he demanded Enjolras pull off, right after he’d spit out Enjolras was “safe from him”.

“Shit,” he says softly. He starts towards the trees, asks, “Which way did they go?” and Marius helpfully points him to the thicket the two of them disappeared into.

Enjolras catches up with Jehan long before he sees Grantaire. The poet is picking flowers, a sight that is so surreal that for a moment Enjolras loses his momentum just to stare at him. Jehan looks up with a smile and raises a finger to his mouth. “Shh,” he says softly, gestures with his head towards where Grantaire is standing a few feet away, his back turned to them.

Enjolras mouths ‘thanks’ and Jehan smiles broadly. It’s completely at odds against the ugly black and blue bruise on his throat but he seems so happy that Enjolras is confident he’s doing the right thing. He strides up to Grantaire, who hears him approaching and turns a little too late. Before Grantaire can ask what he’s doing Enjolras grabs his face with both his hands and drags him in for a kiss.

Grantaire makes a small noise when Enjolras steps back, his eyes looking defenseless. In contrast, Enjolras appears to be blazing with surety.

“That,” he says, “Is what I was trying to say.”

Grantaire blinks at him. “You…” He licks his lips and tastes Enjolras, who somehow possesses a flavor that is still pure in this soiled land. “ _You_ want to kiss _me_?”

Enjolras smiles and releases Grantaire’s face. “Yes,” he says. Grantaire just keeps staring at him so he asks a little slowly, “Is that alright?”

Grantaire sputters. “Is that _alright_ ,” he repeats, aghast. He looks over Enjolras’ shoulder at Jehan who laughs. “Did you hear that, Jehan? Is that _alright_?” He turns back to Enjolras and says, “It’s more than alright,” before dragging him closer for another kiss, longer this time, one hand drifting down to the small of Enjolras’ back.

When they separate Enjolras is breathless and Grantaire looks more awake than Enjolras has ever seen him. It’s impossible that the black under his eyes has vanished but he seems more relaxed, the stress-lines in his face belonging to a man ten years his senior vanishing.

“Fuck, Enjolras,” he says, “You are a fucking enigma.”

Jehan gets up to join them, a few new wildflowers tucked into the pleats of his braid. “We should probably walk back now,” he suggests, “So they don’t think we’ve been slain.”

“Right,” Enjolras agrees, snapping back to attention. He seems a little frazzled still and his hair is mussed from Grantaire’s wandering fingers but he’s returned to a position of authority and it forces him to come back to himself. His eyes linger on Grantaire’s mouth for longer than should be legal before he turns away. “Let’s get back then.”

They walk out of the trees together, much to the relief of their friends. No one speaks; this isn’t a romance movie, and there is no applause for new love. But Jehan returns to his seat in the back and Grantaire gets in the cab again without asking if he can and that’s good enough for Enjolras. He climbs behind the wheel and picks up the walkie-talkie when it buzzes.

“We ready to move then, over?” Feuilly asks. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Enjolras looks sidelong at Grantaire, who grins back at him. “Yes,” Enjolras says, “We’re ready, over.”

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha I have returned because of my gorgeous tumblr followers like hot damn you folks are all way too nice  
> most notably due to tumblr user bottomjolrass because they asked so sweetly <3
> 
> also this is the poem the title is taken from, called "First Kiss" by Jushi C:  
> What happened next,/ I'm not/ Too sure/ But it undeniably took me/ By surprise./ Either the sun/ Became golden liquid/ And gently caressed/ My lips/ Or you,/ Took me / In your arms/ And gave me/ My/ First Kiss"  
> stupid cute amirite and also the sun analogy reminded me of Enjolras what can I say
> 
> no other notes except for that I think just kisses to all you beautiful people c:  
> p.s. tumblr is idfaciendumest if you want to follow/talk to me/whatever


End file.
